I Make Fire

Gotta love the Dewey fire bomb

I am a total pyromaniac.

When I was growing up, the soul source of heat in our house was two woodburning stoves; one in the basement, and one upstairs. My brother and I were in charge of the fire in the basement. Both of us are total pyromaniacs. My mum would be walking around upstairs and have to holler at us because the floor was hot. We would get it up to ninety degrees in the winter and be walking around in the basement in our shorts.

Needless to say, I am really good at making fires.

We went camping over Memorial Day weekend and got a late start. We didn't get to the campsite until dusk. DH put Huey in charge of starting the fire while he unloaded and I took care of Orso. Huey, the boy scout, was having a difficult time, so I traded him. We didn't have any kindling or newspaper, but Huey had chopped some wood for kindling. We just needed some tinder. He had a tiny, tiny fire going, so I ripped off some dried out sage branches from the bushes nearby, added the McDonald's bag, blew a littly, added some bigger and bigger branches, and soon enough we had a roaring fire.

By the time DH was done setting up the trailer, we were ready for s'mores. It was awesome. I stayed up long after everyone went to bed just to watch the fire die.

I was so happy to know that I still got it.